Authors Note: After performing this diary live someone pointed out that David Cross also has a bit about ‘eating gold’. I’ll never do this diary aloud again, but I have retained my KILLER observation about eating gold for your amusement. Do not email me to tell me that David Cross has a joke about eating gold. I know all about it.
-8:00am-I wake up with a hideous, pounding hangover, which is probably the only Thanksgiving tradition I regularly recognize. I figure if I have to spend the day with multiple families, there’s no reason why I should have anything close to an operating brain. I prefer to reduce myself to a simple android who answers all questions with ‘pretty good, thanks’.
-10:00am-We’re meeting my in-laws for brunch at the swank Brown Palace hotel. Outside the Brown Palace, I watch a bum wearing three pairs of filthy sweatpants smoothly insinuate himself into a conversation with some rich people, and realize that I am jealous.
10:10am-The maitre’d or whatever he’s called, I never go anywhere fancy, leads us upstairs and then tells us ‘Enjoy your meal’. Not ‘hope you enjoy your meal’. This is like a command. Of course I add a few thick layers of meaning beneath his words, such as ‘Enjoy your meal, you low-class apes. I can see through that Target outfit all the way to your nacho cheese core. You aren’t fooling me, asshole.’
-10:14am-Despite the Brown Palace’s fancy trappings, I realize now that all buffets attract the same people, and no buffet would be complete without an elderly woman picking individual pecans from out of a cheese plate, like a game of ‘food operation’. BZZZZ don’t touch the cantelope! JUST THE PECANS!. As I stand behind her I fantasize about suddenly having a bulldozer that I can just plow her along the buffet line. My pecansssss!
-11:00am-I guess the posh atmosphere has started to rub off on me. I just slapped a waiter for bringing me a glass of water with an odd number of ice cubes in it. It’s about symmetry, you service goblin.
-11:10am- This melon is out of season. I think I’m going to write a letter.
-11:15am- For the last time, I don’t want fresh-squeezed orange juice. I asked for hand-pressed papaya nectar, you oaf. Now go fetch my request or fetch me your manager!
-11:25am- A trip to the bathroom and the cacophony of shitting inside brings me back to my senses. It sounds like a series of low-altitude detonations over a paint factory. It makes me remember who I am, and where I came from. Phew
-11:30am- Time for desserts! Turns out you can dip just about anything in the chocolate fountain except your wristwatch. Well, if you don’t want people to do it you should have put a sign up.
-11:32am- I hear myself say “God motherfucking dammit!” as I manhandle a delicate lemon meringue tart with some tongs. A lot of other people hear it, too.
-11:33am- They have tarts with gold flakes on top of them. We’re eating gold in here. Fuck you, the 99%, we’re eating gold in here! Because why not!!! I almost lose myself again.
-11:40am- I just don’t see why you would name something the ‘grand ballroom’ and not have the world’s best ball pit in there. I don’t think I’m alone in this. Fuck this place.
Hope your Thanksgiving was stuffed full of food.